


Silent Poetry

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Ballet, Comfort, Contemporary Dance, Gen, Social Anxiety, dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't something he shared with anyone. The illusion of Damian Wayne, the intimidator, the fiercest part of the night, could never shatter so completely. He wasn't supposed to have <i>fears</i> of his own; wasn't supposed to feel like his air was being cut off every time he had to leave these walls. It was beyond unacceptable. And so... he <i>hid</i>. Hid behind the mask of Robin, hid behind the duties of a boy confined to his schoolwork, hid behind the strip of cloth over his eyes, tucked away in this stripped-down room that no one could understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> For DynamicDuoWeek2016 over on tumblr. Day 7: I'm trying really hard to pretend I don't like this  
>  **The title is from a common misquote of Simonides (Greek poet), wherein he was talking about painting, but it has been adapted over the years into a dancing is silent poetry. Horace (Latin poet) used a variant on it as well.  
> **  
>  It seemed fitting: a story of three dances, each telling their own story within.  
>  Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: ["Let It Go" by James Bay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-SWJSL8uhr8) / ["Stole the Show" by Kygo (feat. Parson James)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXoWg08pwiQ) / ["Creepin' Up On You" by Darren Hayes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdwwyBRSXtw)

_No one was supposed to know._

Damian drew the bandana across his eyes, tying it in the back. As he let his shoulders roll, hands coming to rest by his sides, the gentle slide of his tank top drifted over his skin, reminding him of the hundreds of times in the past that he'd been _right here_. The stretch of his leggings moved with him as he widened his stance and simply _breathed_.

His music clicked over to the next track and the gentle pluck of acoustic guitar filled the room. He took a moment, feeling the sun at his back, hearing the click of the air conditioner turning on just under the sound of the music. This was his relaxation; the world he could live within behind the fabric that covered his eyes. In the nights, he lived behind the mask of Robin. Within the harsh light of day, he'd always felt _caught_. As if the world were reaching in to crush his hopes and his dreams, as if the crushing weight of fear that settled over his chest every time he stepped outside the doors would come crashing down on him at any instant. 

It wasn't something he shared with anyone. The illusion of Damian Wayne, the intimidator, the fiercest part of the night, could never shatter so completely. He wasn't supposed to have _fears_ of his own; wasn't supposed to feel like his air was being cut off every time he had to leave these walls. It was unacceptable. And so, he _hid_. Hid behind the mask of Robin, hid behind the duties of a boy confined to his schoolwork, hid behind the strip of cloth over his eyes, tucked away in this stripped-down room that no one could understand. 

The song faded out and the next took its place, the swell of a senseless noise steadily rising, the breath of a rhythm as the guitar slipped in. Damian brought his hands up to his chest, tucking them there and then slowly letting the right spread wide, the left lowering and extending behind him. Bringing them up, he let the piece take over his body as it had his mind from the very first time he'd ever heard it. The gentle lift and fall of his hands guiding the momentum of the rest of his body as he began to _move_. One foot and then the next, his mind coherent of the space he was within, knowing the exact distance from one wall to the other, understanding the precise placement of the chair he'd left nearly dead-center of the room, knowing where the single supporting beam sprang from the floor to touch the ceiling, creating his movement around them. 

His fingertips grazed the smooth wood of the beam, allowing him to catch the momentum of his movement, create an abrupt change of it as his back arched, his hips pushing forward, his free hand a gentle addition to the movement that nearly brought him down to touch the floor. It was purposeful, an evident piece of the larger whole. The words to the song took hold and Damian flung himself forward, intentionally stumbling, his body crying out the pain of the song in the most forceful of ways. He jerked between directions two, three, _four_ times before his palms hit the chair, no sound at all from them - the silence ringing in the evidence that he'd meant to do everything he had. Hanging his head over the chair, he eased himself to the floor, a single twist bringing him to where his back rested against the chair, his hands on the floor, one leg outstretched, the other crossed over the outstretched leg, foot flat upon the floor. His head slowly fell back, creating an elegant sculpture in the seconds before the second guitar kicked in. The instant it did, he arched up from the floor, the jerk of it sending his heart into a quicker pace, the thrill of what was happening dancing through his veins. 

Three quick twists landed him back on his feet, another half-fall providing him the chair as he settled, one knee pulled up on it, his hands on the back, the other leg out behind him and he began to arch, letting the chair come back with him, tipping, and then falling, though he never let it hit the floor. With one quick whip of his hand, the chair was righted, settled so carefully against the floor, and then he was rushing for the window, fingers finding the curtains, throwing them open. Throwing his arms up to shield his face, he was guided by the words of the song now, the voice of hard mornings and brilliant delusion. Three quick fouettes and he caught himself against the beam, the intent purposeful as he slowly sank to his knees, hands outstretched upon the wood over him, his head bowed; the entire pose dejected as the song came to a close.

Sliding one foot around, he turned himself and leaned back against the beam, his breath coming quick and harsh. 

The music changed, flipping to a song Damian was nearly certain he didn't own. Making a face, he forced his hands to move, made himself reach up and untie the bandana and letting it drop to his lap. As his eyes adjusted to the room, Dick came into focus beside the shelf he'd left his phone and the speaker on. For an instant fear lanced through him, pushing at old wounds, begging him to lash out in anger, to cover the drop in the pit of his stomach at having been found out.

_No one was supposed to know._

Dick had clearly been working out in the cave, his hands taped from the punching bag and his skintight white leggings on, his blue and white tank top drenched in sweat. Damian shifted, pulling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees, wondering where this was going. Their eyes met for a moment and then, without a word, Dick flipped the song to the next one, moving to stand just before the curtains, blotting out some of the sunlight that threatened the darkness of the room.

Dick took position, his hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed. The music swelled and the drum beat began the thrill of the song. He lifted one hand, acted as though he were grasping a hat with one hand, the other moving with his body as he turned his hips, and then he was backing up, each step dragging, the end of his steps jerky. 

His body shifted and his leg came up, turning him around so his back was to Damian as he sank to the floor, one hand touching it, the other coming to rest on his shoulder.

Everything alternated between dragging as though it were through molasses and jerking quickly to the very next movement, something that held Damian mesmerized. It was so _different_ than what he'd been doing, but it was also so obviously rehearsed, every step matching the words of the song, the beat of it as though it held a natural rhythm for Dick somehow.

Damian tracked Dick's movements across the room, hiding the creep of a smile that began to rise onto his lips against his knee, the light of it surly giving him away despite his best efforts. It was true, no one was supposed to know... but just this once... just Dick. He knew he'd never judge him for it and that, in some small way, he probably even understood the drive behind it.

When the song ended, Damian pushed himself to his feet, moving to where Dick's phone rested next to his own, picking it up and selecting a song from it, pressing play and then letting himself actually grin at him as the violin kicked into action, making it overly obvious which song this was. He watched the amused look bloom on Dick's features as he slid both arms over the bookshelf, holding onto it, letting his gaze turn dark.

Dick grinned at him and turned around, crossing his arms and leaving his stance wide, intentionally ignoring Damian as he nearly flung himself off of the bookshelf, steps soundless on the floor as he rushed for Dick and then came to a stop with one footfall sounding heavily to let him know where he was, hoping he'd catch on. Dick's arms came down, fingers splayed wide as he jerked his head toward the other side, body shifting towards where he was _supposed_ to think Damian was, fake shock painting his visage. Damian went the other way, one hand on his thigh, one leg outstretched to his side as he leaned around Dick's other side. Their movements reversed and then Dick started to turn around, Damian darting around him, falling back against the windowsill, his hand coming to press against his heart, the back of his other arm over his brow. 

Together, they began to make a circle of the room, playing up the lyrics, Dick pretending to pluck things from the air while Damian danced around him and then Damian flattening himself against the beam while Dick launched himself into several well-timed handsprings. When he landed, crouching, Damian darted to him, nearly plastering himself against Dick's back, letting himself feel his movements and do his best to keep up with them, copying them a fraction of a second behind him, if that much. Every roll of Dick's shoulders, every twitch of his muscles came with Damian's following. Then they were up, Dick standing, looking distressed, his expression confused and a little pained while Damian dashed across the room and then began to creep back toward him, shadow to shadow, quiet as he could be as he moved, adding in little hand movements and a little pas de chat and a soubresaut if only because he could. 

The song started to come to an end and Damian allowed himself to shadow Dick until the very last note of the song, Dick turning and grasping Damian's arm as he raised it, the pair of them freezing for an instant, face-to-face, Damian's hand positioned like he was going to stab Dick, Dick's face passive as he stared down at him.

After a few seconds, Dick's face lit up and he grinned as he let him go. "You know... if you ever want a partner for a dance again." He shrugged, letting the rest of the statement weigh in for itself, voiceless though it was.

Damian took a step back, folding his arms over his chest and allowed himself a moment of weakness, one moment with the only person on the face of this planet that didn't give him rolling waves of anxiety. One shoulder lifted and he uttered a quiet, "-tt- yeah. Maybe." Their eyes met and the way Dick smiled at him left him with a warmth that he knew he'd hold onto for a long time to come. His mentor, his brother... _his confidant_. Dick would never cease to surprise him. 

Maybe, just maybe, he'd invite him in once in a while.


End file.
